


Fulcrums of History

by clgfanfic



Category: Highlander: The Series, War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Realities get a little complicated</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fulcrums of History

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Off With His Head #1 and later in Green Floating Weirdness #23 under the pen name Caryn Mayo.

Duncan MacLeod walked cautiously down the dark street, his gaze shifting continuously from side to side, and then above.  Young gang members gave him a wide birth.  Old derelicts cowered.  Trash swirled in every breeze.  In the sky, lightning flashed, but there was no rain.  There had been no rain for days, despite the storms.

The odd, unsettled feeling that had clung to the Highlander for weeks grew heavier, weighing down his shoulders.  It was not cold, but his bones ached.

_What's going on here?  Why is this happening?  When did it start?_

He shook his head, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his duster.  Over the last six months, everything Duncan MacLeod had ever known had been turned inside out.  It had started with Darius' death, and the realization that the Watchers were out there, some of them hunting the Immortals down.

Then his escape back to the States… Tessa's death… Richie's transformation… society slowly disintegrating before his eyes… Charlie almost getting killed…

There was no choice.  He had to run…

 _Run_.  He snorted.  _I've never run away from anything, and now I can't seem to stop._

He'd run back to Paris.  Back to the memories of Tessa and Darius, but it hadn't worked.  The Watchers were still there.  The evil that seemed to permeate everything was there.

Finally, there had been nothing left to do but return to the States.  He had to find Dawson.  He had to _do_ something…

_Something…_

_What?_

_What the hell can I do?_

"What the hell's going on!" he yelled into the darkness.  His voice echoed down the street and back, but there was no answer.

There hadn't been any answers for months.

 _It's the end of civilization_ , he decided.  Philosophers had warned them it would happen for centuries, and it sure as hell looked like they were right.  Governments were crumbling, crime and violence skyrocketing, the environment dying…

The earth was dying…

A strobe of lightening allowed him to see the drunks and poor huddling along the walls, and in the doorways.  Their eyes were vacant, hope forgotten.

_No thunder.  No rain.  Just the last flashes of a once great world…_

He forced himself on.

A hand closed on his arm, and MacLeod jumped, pulling away and reaching automatically for the sword he carried under the black leather duster.  A tiny, frightened woman cowered at his elbow.  Her large grey eyes pleaded for life.

"Please," she whispered.  "You have to help me."

MacLeod's gaze swept over her – dirty auburn hair hung in long, waxy strands.  She was dressed in rags, obvious underfed, and very, very pregnant.

She drew the tatters of her coat closer at her throat.  "Please.  They're trying to kill my baby."

He nodded, not understanding who, or why.  It could be anyone on the filthy street.  No explanations for brutality were needed anymore.

At the same time, he balked.  He didn't need another complication.  He had to find Dawson, Charlie, Richie…

Someone stood, falling against the steel bars protecting the glass windows of a liquor store.  The woman jumped, almost bolting away.

Duncan grabbed her arm.  "It's all right," he said softly.  "It's nothing."

Leading her away, he headed east.  He had to get out of the city; had to find some answers.  He might as well help this young mother-to-be at the same time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Lying on the creaky hotel bed, MacLeod stared at the water-stained ceiling.  The patters were partly swirled, and trailed off to one corner.  The owner had over-charged him, but the woman needed rest.

The shower continued to run, a steady counterpoint to the lightning, man-made rain to accompany the unnatural storm.  Steam escaped from under the door.

At least the place had hot water.

Sitting up, he reached for the phone, and tapped out a number.  He waited.  No answer.

_Come on, Charlie, where are you?_

The DeSalvo dojo was still listed, but no one was there… maybe Charlie was gone.  Maybe Dawson was dead.  Everyone was dead.  The people on the streets were just the ghosts, walking the earth, looking for answers…

The bathroom door opened, freeing him from the depressing spiral.  Duncan smiled.  Cleaned up, the woman wasn't hard to look at.  In her early twenties, the auburn hair was long and thick, the grey eyes large and elf-like.  The clothes he'd given her were too big, but she filled them with the unborn child.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, her head dipping.  "Thank you."

He leaned forward.  "I think it's time you told me what you need help with."

Her hands caressed her abdomen, rubbing circles on the flannel shirt that fell to her knees.  "My baby, they're trying to kill him."

"Who?  Why?"

She shrugged.  "I don't know."

 _Simple.  She's simple_ , he thought.  _There's probably no one trying to hurt her or her baby–_

Her head came up, the grey eyes flashed.  "I'm not stupid.  There _are_ people out there trying to kill my baby.  I don't know who they are, they just are.  It's always been this way."

He was confused.  "Always?"

She sucked in a deep breath and walked over to the second bed.  Pulling back the covers she climbed in, and covered her legs.  Continuing to rub her belly, she looked at MacLeod.  "I have to get to San Francisco, before the baby comes."

"You have family there?"

She shrugged again.  "They're waiting for me."

"Who?"

"The people who know about my baby; they'll take care of her until he's old enough to help."

Duncan shook his head.  There was something strange about the woman, but it obvious she was going to have a child, soon.  San Francisco wasn't that far away. It was too late to stop now.

He'd take her to San Francisco, then find Charlie and Dawson.

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

"You're welcome," he replied, wondering if she really could read his mind.  "What's your name?"

"Callie."

"Well, Callie, I'm MacLeod.  Duncan MacLeod."

"I know, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, an Immortal – my Protector. I've been looking for you."

Duncan's eyes flew wide.  He stood.  "Who are you?"

"Callie," she replied, rolling over and pulling the blankets up around her shoulders.  She was asleep in moments.

Shaken, MacLeod stood for several minutes, watching her sleep, wondering who the hell she was, and how she knew who he was.  He didn't like any of the answers he came up with.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Duncan."

MacLeod groaned and rolled over.

"Duncan."

The voice was sharper, and the Highlander's eyes cracked opened.  He squinted into the darkness of the hotel room, then sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the man.  "Darius?"

The priest nodded.  "I don't have much time, Duncan," he said, stepping up to the bedside.  "You must make sure this woman reaches San Francisco safely, _before_ the child is born."

MacLeod sat up, glancing at the sleeping woman.  "Why, who is she?"

Darius took a step closer to Callie, his hand reaching down to gently touch her swollen belly.  "She's an innocent, and her child is hope."

"You're talking like a priest, my friend.  Tell me what's going on."

Darius turned back to MacLeod.  "There are so many things we don't know, even us.  The cycles of life and death, the rise and fall of good and evil–"

"Darius," Duncan interrupted, "just tell me what the hell's going on."

"There is a great evil here, MacLeod.  An evil that wasn't born of this earth, but it's here, and it's feeding on the evil that does exist here."

"The aliens," Duncan said matter-of-factly.  Why did he know this was going to lead back to the aliens and Ironhorse?

"Yes," Darius said.  "But not the ones Ironhorse told you about.  These beings are… the masters of those creations.  They are much more dangerous, much more evil."

"Great."  Duncan stood, running his hand over his sleep-tangled hair.  "And her?" he asked.

"She is an innocent."  Darius walked to the window and looked out.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Over the millennia, good and evil have fought for control of the cosmos.  Men, all of us, have been nothing but pawns in a much larger game.  Mortals, Immortals each have their parts to play, and so do those like this girl."  He turned back, meeting Duncan's confused gaze.  "From time to time, individuals are born who have lasting impacts on mankind – Christ, Buddha, Einstein…"

"Are you saying her baby's another Christ?"

"Her child has the potential to become a… fulcrum, of history.  If it survives, it can swing the balance back to the center.  The aliens know about these fulcrums.  They're trying to kill her, and the baby.  You cannot allow that to happen."

"And how am I supposed to stop it?"

"Since the beginning, Immortals have protected these fulcrums.  I can't explain it, Duncan.  I just know that each mother must be protected by an Immortal.  With you there, she is in no danger."

"From?"

"From the Watchers, the aliens, mortals… from evil itself.  It is, perhaps, our truest destiny."

"So I take her to San Francisco.  Will she be safe there?"

"Yes."  Darius stepped up to Duncan.  "There are others of her kind there.  They'll know where to take her.  They'll make sure the baby is safe."

"And me?"

"I told you there would be a time when Duncan MacLeod would have to die.  That time is now, my friend."

"But–"

"Duncan, please, trust me.  There are only a few Immortals left.  Those who are must survive for the Gathering.  If the Watchers destroy us, there will be no Gathering, the balance will be lost.  They rely on the fact we keep our names.  You have to let Duncan MacLeod die."

"And?"

Darius shook his head.  "I don't know.  Things are… changing."

"I don't believe you."

"You can see it out there, Duncan, I know you can."

"Not that.  You do know, but you can't tell me.  Isn't that right?"

Darius met MacLeod's stony gaze.  "Does it matter?"

"No."

"I can't stay.  Be careful, Duncan.  The truth is:  the balance is in jeopardy."

Duncan watched Darius fade into darkness.

"Don't let the balance be lost…"

"Sometimes, you are not much help, my friend," Duncan said softly in the suddenly empty-feeling room.  "But I'll do what you say."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Duncan and Callie arrived in San Francisco three days later.  He knew they had been followed, but whether it was aliens, Watchers, or someone else, he couldn't tell.

"Where to?" he asked her as they stepped off the bus that had carried them from the car rental lot to the downtown area.

She shook her head, then reached out, holding onto his arm.  "I've never been here…"

"Great," he hissed under his breath, watching two men pause across the street, waiting for them to move.

"I'm sorry–"

"It's not you."  He nodded slightly toward the men.  "It's them.  Recognize them?"

"No."

"Let's go."

"MacLeod!"

Duncan turned, his hand falling to the gun he now carried in his jacket pocket.  His fingers closed around the butt and trigger as Joe Dawson stepped out onto the sidewalk from a large building.  MacLeod glanced up.  It was a hotel.

"What are you doing here?" Dawson asked lowly.

"Vacation," was the quick, almost sarcastic reply.

Dawson's gaze shifted from MacLeod and the woman to the two men across the street.  "You'd better come with me."

Duncan watched the two men wander off.  "Friends of yours?"

"No, not friends, they're some of James's men."  He smiled at Callie.  "Hello. Come inside.  I have a room here.  You can rest."  His gaze met MacLeod's.  "We need to talk."

"You're right about that," Duncan said, anger unconcealed.

The pair followed Dawson into the building, rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor, then waited while he unlocked 1527.

"Hungry?" Joe asked Callie.  She nodded.  He pointed to the phone.  "Call room service, the food's excellent and the service fast."

She moved to the phone, picking it up hesitantly.  Callie glanced over her shoulder to Duncan.  He nodded, and she dialed.

"Friend of yours?" Dawson asked.

"Something like that."

"Mac, listen, I know you're not going to trust me, but…"  He glanced at Callie, making sure she was distracted, then continued.  "…something's going on."

"Oh?" MacLeod replied.

"My people, they're… disappearing."

Duncan's eyebrows knotted over his nose.  "Dead?"

Dawson shook his head.  "No, they're just… disappearing – no explanations, no contact with their families, nothing."

"How can I help?"

"I…"  He paused, checking Callie again.  "I wanted to know if you were killing them."

Duncan's eyes flashed.  "No."

"I didn't think so, but I had to ask."  He studied the angry Highlander.  "I'm sorry, MacLeod, but I don't understand what's going on."

"Join the club."  He paused as Callie joined them.

"I'm going to take a shower.  The food is coming."

"Good idea," Duncan told her. 

When she was in the bathroom, MacLeod walked to the windows, looking out over the city.  It was dirty, oppressive, not at all the city he had known in the past.

"It's not just my people, MacLeod," Dawson said.  "The Immortals are disappearing, too."

"I know."

"Why?"

"Your people are destroying them."

"Not mine."

Duncan swung back to face Dawson.  "Yes, _your_ people.  You trained them, you educated them, and now they're killing mine."

Joe's head dropped slightly.  "It was never supposed to be like that."

"Well, it's too late for sorry now…"  He walked back to a chair and sank down. "Richie, do you–?"

"He's alive.  The last I heard he was in New York, before the riots.  Now, I don't know."

"What about Charlie?"

"He's here, in San Francisco.  That's why I'm here."

Duncan leaned forward in his chair.  "Charlie's here?  Why?"

Dawson's forehead wrinkled in confusion.  "He got your letter, called me, and we came."

"What letter?"

Joe sat on the foot of the bed.  "Oh shit…"

"What letter, damn it!"

"DeSalvo received a letter.  He said it was from you, asking him to meet you here.  There's been a couple of attempts on his life.  James' people, I think, after him to get to you.  He came to me."

"I didn't send any letter."

"I did."

The two men jumped, standing.  Duncan reached for his weapon, but stopped.  It was too late; if the man wanted them dead, they'd already be dead.

Dawson's mouth dropped open.  "It's impossible."

Ironhorse smiled.  "We can talk about that later."  He walked to the door and opened it.  Charlie DeSalvo entered, grinning.

"Hey, MacLeod, how's it goin'?"

Duncan looked to Ironhorse.  "What the hell's going on?"

"Sit down, I'll explain," he said, walking to the other chair and relaxing.

"This better be good," MacLeod growled.

"Oh, it is," Charlie assured him.  "It is."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

MacLeod sat in silence, trying to take in the ramifications of what he'd heard from Ironhorse.  Two invasions of aliens… infiltration of world governments… the breakdown of world communications and trade… military uprisings in Third World countries…  It was the end of the world.  And now?

Now, Ironhorse was trying to locate Immortals to stand in as a security force for the U.S. government, now living underground.  It was all so…  Crazy.

The world was going crazy.

"In the process of looking for you," Ironhorse told MacLeod, "I ran across Mr. DeSalvo.  He's a dead ringer for one of my people.  I asked him to come out here to help me."

"Help you what?"

"With the infiltration of the government and the Pentagon; I can't rely on their security.  I'm going to need to move my people to another, non-government safehouse.  In order to do that, I'll need help.  Mr. DeSalvo can help me make the move easier, with fewer people involved.  If I can get Norton out, and let him get his computers back up and running, we'll be able to monitor our security a lot easier when I bring the others."

"He told me about the aliens," Charlie said.  "I couldn't say no.  I mean, look at what's going on out there."

"The world is dying," Callie said, stepping out of the bathroom to join them.  A knock at the door stalled comment.  Ironhorse and MacLeod responded, accepting the room service cart, and rolling it in for the young woman.

She sat and began to eat, the men watching.

"Will you help me?" Ironhorse asked Duncan.

The Highlander nodded.  "As soon as Callie's safe."

"Good.  Charlie is going in as Norton Drake."  He looked to Dawson.  "And if you're willing, I need your help finding the rest of us."

Joe gave him a small smile.  "I'll do what I can."

Ironhorse turned back to MacLeod.  Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a business card.  "When you're done, go see Dimitri; he'll fix you up with a cover."

"Right," Duncan said, accepting the card.

"You will win the war, Paul Ironhorse," Callie said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Duncan walked with Callie down Fisherman's Wharf.  It was almost dark, and the gangs were just emerging for their nightly activity.  He took a step closer to the young woman.

Callie looked up, smiling.  "They're close."

"The people you're looking for?"

"Yes."  She scanned the growing crowd.  "There," she said, pointing to three figures standing near a 55-gallon drum, glowing with the fire that snapped inside.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," Callie whispered, starting for the figures.

MacLeod matched her steps, his eyes scanning the people passing for any sign of danger.

When they reached the threesome, he stood behind Callie, wondering who they were.  Wearing long cloaks with hoods, it was impossible to see their faces.

"I have come," Callie said.

"Yes, you are home," replied one of the figures, a woman.  She reached up and pushed her hood back.  She looked just like Callie, only a decade or so older.

Extending her arms, the woman welcomed Callie into an embrace.  The two other figures reached out, resting a hand on Callie's shoulders.  In a blink, they were gone.

Duncan bolted forward, but there was no sign of them.

"Callie?!"  Where was she?  Was she safe?  The baby?

A voice echoed in his thoughts.  _I'm am safe, and I am home, Duncan MacLeod.  My baby will be born in love.  He will be safe until she is needed.  Thank you._

"You're welcome," he said, then turned and headed back to Dawson's hotel.  Tomorrow he'd see Dimitri, then contact Ironhorse.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

He stepped out into the street.  No one looked twice.  The brown leather jacket, the torn jeans, combat boots, T-shirt drew no attention, nor did the short brown-black hair and the beard stubble.

"Hey, John," s voice called.  " _John_."

He turned.

"Get used to it…" the second man said.  "…little brother."

He chuckled.  "Yeah, right."

"John Kincaid," Dimitri said.  "I like it.  Like Max Kincaid better."

"You would."

"So, we're off.  Wonder what Ironhorse has in mind."

"Don't know.  We're supposed to see General Henry Wilson.  He's got something that needs to be done."

"And it needs a… special touch."

"Something like that."  John slapped Max's back.  "But we won't know until we get there."

"Lead on…"

The End


End file.
